was worried over the empty barn. .it  survives,
some
way.

we are little things
that dance in the mornings
james
by the light of the phone….

large rocks
fenced off yet
maybe i will
creep through
and touch
one quiet day

one stone
one finger touch
a ritual

who knows what lies underneath
here the land goes up and down
water drains
into rivers

undeniably tracing honesty in the air
with one finger
pointing

it came clear later..

old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing
relaxing.
the hunted tried not to sleep
there

grass
holds the sand.
sand holds
the grass.
have you walked the dunes
hollowed path, coconut gorse.
have you found contentment there?
have you sat the sun, black crow bird,
have you closed your eyes at that
within, enjoyed that
without?
the tin hut is still empty.